


Obsessions

by thinkpink20



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:23:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkpink20/pseuds/thinkpink20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because everyone is obsessed with something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obsessions

"Dear _lord,"_ Sherlock says, throwing down the newspaper. John jumps slightly at the noise. 

"What?"

"Why is everyone so _obsessed_ with _sex?"_

Sherlock is now draping himself like a put-upon maiden in a Pre-Raphaelite. John thinks this is probably a bad sign.

"Not _everyone._ What have you been reading?"

"Some cabinet minister," Sherlock replies, waving a careless yet also perfectly artful hand at the paper now lying crumpled on the floor. "Then on the page before that a _footballer."_ He says the last word like it's the equivalent of being a nail-bomber. John can imagine that Sherlock would have been hell during P.E. lessons.

"Well, footballers and politicians..." John shrugs, going back to his laptop. "They're practically programmed, aren't they? Something to do with the scandal."

"It's not just _them,"_ Sherlock complains, "It's everyone, the entire world. It's _exhausting."_

John frowns, vaguely affronted and looks up from his blog, fingers paused over the keyboard. "Er, excuse me, I'm human, I'm normal and I'm not obsessed, thank you very much."

"Oh yes you are."

Sherlock's tone is bored, like he's annoyed at knowing everything, like it's a chore. He's lying on the sofa in that pointless silk dressing gown that John has often thought wouldn't keep _anyone_ warm and his toes are wiggling madly with pent-up energy. 

Nearly two weeks without a case. He's being unbearable.

"Yes well, thank you for lumping me in with the rest of mankind, nice to know you only keep me around for my phone retrieving skills."

Sherlock glances across at him pointedly and John gets the brief sensation of being spotted by the eye of a storm.

"Are you trying to deny the facts?"

He splutters, feels himself smiling. "What facts?" 

"Our first case," Sherlock says. "You tried to ask me out."

"No I di - "

"Yes you did; you asked me about my relationship status and then my sexual preference."

"It's called getting to know someone, Sherlock, normal people - "

"Normal people do _not_ enquire suggestively over dinner whether someone else is gay within the first forty eight hours of meeting them unless they're hoping to have sex with them."

"I was not hoping - "

"Oh of course you were," Sherlock says, exasperated. "You met me, found that we had chemistry and immediately thought - "

"Chemistry?" John repeats, feeling his face heat up. He hopes Sherlock can't tell in the low lighting and at this distance. "Now who's talking about sex?"

"Chemistry doesn't have to be _sexual,"_ Sherlock sighs. "There you go again, associating everything with sex..."

John coughs, half uncomfortable, half wondering whether Sherlock is right. The bastard usually is.

"So you think we have chemistry?"

"Of course we do," Sherlock replies, as though this isn't an odd thing to announce to a friend. John has had lots of close mates, men he would have died for in the army, lads at school he was inseparable from, but he would never have sat them down and announced, 'I think we have chemistry.'

Not unless he wanted his teeth punching in, anyway.

"And you realised this when...?"

"At Barts," Sherlock says casually, "When Mike delivered you to me."

"Del - " John huffs out a laugh, "Delivered? Sherlock, how do you manage to make me sound like a shipment of bananas?"

Sherlock turns his head on the sofa, crushing his curls against the leather. He smiles wryly. "Ah, but you're _my_ shipment of bananas."

John rolls his eyes, can feel the smile still covering his own face. "So you just knew, did you? That we'd get along."

"Yes, of course."

"How?"

"You're amiable, sensible, quiet. And tolerant - I need that, I can be quite annoying, sometimes."

John sighs. "That's an understatement."

Sherlock glares at him.

"But you didn't even know me, you couldn't have known those things then; I could have been into wild sex parties and loud music."

"There you go with the sex again," Sherlock points out and John winces at his own mistake. "Obviously Mike wouldn't have brought me someone completely unsuitable and your army background suggests amiable, medical background suggests tolerant, patient. Then of course you handed me your phone."

John pauses, listens to the silence as Sherlock stares at the ceiling. He has his hands steepled now - John knows Sherlock's body language better than his own and he knows this is a step down from the toe waggling, moving blissfully back from manic to thoughtful.

"My phone?"

"Yes, it said you liked me - you wouldn't just offer your phone to any old stranger if you didn't like the look of them."

John thinks about this for a minute, realises for the first time that actually, it was true. He _had_ liked the look of him.

"So you have chemistry with anyone who likes you, do you?"

Sherlock clicks his tongue, doesn't even bother to look across the room. "You know me, John - how many people do I seem to have chemistry with?"

"Um, precisely _none,"_ John replies, then realises what he's just said. He's the only person Sherlock has chemistry with, the only person Sherlock _chooses_ to spend his time with.

Maybe they _do_ have chemistry. His mind races at what that might mean.

"And there you go again, you see."

John glances up when Sherlock speaks, realises he's watching him again. "What?"

"Thinking about sex."

"What? I wasn't - "

"Yes you were, you were considering our chemistry. Wondering where it might lead."

"I wasn't - "

"Don't _lie,_ John," Sherlock drawls. "It's boring and doesn't become you."

John shuts up.

"So what's so wrong with being obsessed with sex then, anyway?" He asks a moment later, realising he's been defeated. Again.

Sherlock just sighs. "It's all so _base."_

"Maybe being base is fun every now and then," John suggests, still slightly bitter about being lumped (correctly) with the rest of humanity. "You should try it once in a while."

"Is that a second offer?" Sherlock asks, glancing over.

"Oh, piss off."

Sherlock smirks. "I understand it's necessary for procreation but - "

"'Necessary for procreation'?" John quotes. "Bloody hell, I bet you were a hit with the ladies at university."

"I was, actually."

John's head snaps up from glancing at the laptop. "What?"

"Unfortunately they weren't quite a hit with me."

John waits a minute, hoping more information will be forthcoming. Sherlock never talks about his past. John has often wondered. "So you were more interested in the boys...?"

"And again," Sherlock notes, pointing one accusing finger across the room. "Even now you're wondering, aren't you?"

"What?"

"Whether my sexual preferences make me available to you."

John almost laughs. "Not everything I say is an attempt at getting off with you, Sherlock."

For a moment there is silence whilst Sherlock merely watches him and John knows the analytical workings of that brain so he waits patiently, staring back. "No."

"No what?"

"No, I wasn't more interested in the boys."

John feels the oddest flutter of disappointment in his chest despite himself.

"See?" Sherlock adds, finally looking away, "I told you. You're so very easy to read, John - you show disappointment like a small child with an empty stocking on Christmas morning."

John feels a very real flush of embarrassment constrict in his chest and tries not to show he has lost this conversation entirely by carrying on. "So you think sex is pointless then, do you?"

"Not pointless, no," Sherlock concedes, once against speaking to the ceiling. "I can appreciate it's uses as a bargaining tool and - "

"A bargaining tool?!" John frowns, appalled, but Sherlock carries on as though he hasn't heard him.

"Without it repopulation would be tricky but why it has to be behind every thought, feeling and motivation of mankind is utterly beyond me."

Huffing a frustrated sort of sigh, John grits his teeth. "Ignoring the wildly unsubstantiated assumption that it _is_ the motivation behind everything people do, have you ever thought for a second Sherlock that it's because it's _nice?_ And _intimate?_ And a slightly less intrusive way of connecting with someone than loudly proclaiming all the private things you've deducted about them from their clothes and the way they walk?"

Sherlock glares at him sideways and John quietly feels like he's won a point.

"I still think it's horribly over-rated," Sherlock sulks at the ceiling, sounding distinctly like a little boy. John tries to not to smile.

"Of course. And puzzle solving is clearly a very healthy motivator."

"At least I'm not _obsessed_ with it."

John nearly chokes on the mouthful of tea he brings to his lips whilst Sherlock studiously ignores him.


End file.
